


Under the Influence

by padawanhilary, Telesilla



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: From Sex to Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-01-10
Updated: 2006-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-05 12:58:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padawanhilary/pseuds/padawanhilary, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Telesilla/pseuds/Telesilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sean and Viggo's relationship comes to a turning point after a painful argument.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Influence

All Sean knows as he wakes up is that it's time to die. Now, or if not now, preferably as soon as possible. His head feels like it's going to split into millions of tiny pieces and his stomach seems to have a mind of its own. A very evil mind at that. _What the fuck did I drink last night?_ he thinks as he tries to convince his stomach that no, they don't need to get out of bed just yet.

Sadly, Sean's stomach is having none of it and so Sean lurches to the bathroom just in time to be quite noisily sick. That in turn sets his head to feeling even worse, and he sits back on the floor, leaning his head against the cool tile of the wall. "Still waiting to die," he mumbles.

When it all finally comes back to him, he gets even more serious about the whole wanting to die thing. The fight with Viggo, the drive to the pub where he consumed way too much scotch -- and possibly some gin too; he's really not sure -- and then the cab ride to his flat because he knew damn well he wasn't in any shape to drive. He puts a hand to his head and wishes he hadn't taken the coward's way out. _I'm a fucking idiot._

Viggo's been up for hours. He supposes it could be said that he never really slept. The night didn't seem to be a good one for sleeping, anyway. It was for figuring out what it was he did, exactly, that bothered Sean so much. Now, after a couple of hours of near-unconsciousness and two big gourds of mate, he's at least calm. He wasn't last night. Last night, he really couldn't see why a friendly little nuzzle and a kiss or two was worth fighting over, let alone to the point of Sean leaving.

He stares at his gourd, curling his palms around it and turning it slowly. It's been a long time since Sean wasn't in his bed, and Viggo doesn't like it a bit. Less than that, he tried to call last night, and Sean wasn't there. He reaches for the phone -- surely they're not past some imaginary point of no return? -- but then hesitates. If Sean still isn't at home, that might tell Viggo more than he wants to know.

Then again...Viggo grabs the phone and makes himself dial. It might tell him more than he wants to know, but that'll be exactly what he needs, he supposes. And maybe it's nothing. Maybe, as he has, Sean came to the conclusion in his sleep that it was sort of ridiculous and something they can meet in the middle on. Viggo will...stop being so overly affectionate, and Sean can stop being so livid. Viggo doesn't know, yet, how it'll pan out, but just the ringing of the phone makes him feel a little better.

The phone ringing is almost enough to have Sean throwing up again, but he manages to battle the feeling down and stagger into the bedroom to get the phone. He knows it's Viggo and he really doesn't want to talk to him. Then again, he's going to have to talk to Viggo at some point, so why not now?

"Yeah?" he growls into the phone.

Viggo almost recoils. "Sean," he greets evenly. "I...guess...I'd like to talk about last night."

"I'm trying not to think about it too much," he says. "I feel like shite."

"You sound like shite," Viggo agrees, not even approximating the inflection; the word comes out flat in an American accent. "Hung over?" he asks, knowing well enough that that's the case.

"What do you bloody think?" In spite of his words, Sean's tone of voice isn't angry; he feels too bad to bother with anger.

Viggo feels instantly contrite. "I'm sorry," he murmurs. Suddenly, all of last night is a huge misunderstanding. It no longer matters what Viggo intended or didn't intend by letting Orlando snuggle him up. It only matters what Sean made of it, and Sean made enough of it to get pissing drunk over the whole episode. "Do you want me to come over?" he asks, fidgeting with his gourd.

A part of Sean -- the cowardly part -- wants to say no, wants to just go back to bed and sleep for about a year or so. But no, that's not going to solve anything and he takes a deep, painful breath and nods. "Yeah ... you probably should."

"Okay. I'll be over in a minute." Viggo sighs, running his fingers over the smooth exterior of the gourd. "I'm sorry," adds quietly.

"Yeah," Sean says again, sitting down on the bed. "See you." He knows he should say more, but honestly, he doesn't feel good enough to say anything at all.

Viggo understands that much, and he just hangs up, taking up his gourd to drain it in the sink before he goes.

It doesn't take long to get to Sean's; it's a quick walk and a quicker drive. Normally, Viggo would hoof it, but he thinks today calls for a little urgency. He throws some ginger and mint tea in a satchel and then adds a pouch of lavender flowers, then heads out the door and into his car.

The weather's mild and gorgeous. Viggo would love to share this sort of day with Sean, but he has a feeling Sean isn't going to share anything but groaning for a couple of days. He doesn't bother knocking when he arrives, just lets himself in. Another little surge of remorse hits him: they've long since done the exchanging of keys ritual, and he should've known Sean wouldn't care much for his overly affectionate display with Orlando.

"Sean?" he calls gently, and then just heads back to the bedroom, approaching cautiously, as though Sean were in some position to do him harm.

Sean's not in a position to do a fly harm, let alone Viggo. He's still on the bed, having made one more trip to the bathroom. It didn't help any; he still feels like crap.

"Oh, Sean," Viggo sighs, going to the bed and crouching down next to it to avoid jostling. Sean is pale and he looks miserable; he smells of scotch and...gin? Viggo wrinkles his nose discreetly. "I'm so sorry. Let me make you some tea. I've got something that'll settle your stomach."

"Christ .... has it got caffeine in it?"

"No. I'll make you coffee after I'm sure you can hold something down." Viggo reaches up, frowning, and strokes Sean's hair back from his sweaty forehead. "Jesus, Sean," he sighs.

"I want to die," Sean mumbles, looking up at Viggo. "I'm an idiot."

"No, you're not," Viggo chides, "and no, you don't." He presses a kiss to Sean's head and sighs. "I'll be back with this in a minute."

It doesn't take long. Viggo's quick with things like poultices and teas, and within a few minutes, he's back with a cup of hot tea and a towel rolled with lavender and tea-bag layers, soaked cold and wet.

"Here," he says, settling down again. The tea goes on the nightstand and the towel goes over Sean's eyes. Viggo presses lightly. "I guess I don't have to tell you to stay still."

"No," Sean says. "Feels bloody marvelous that towel does. Thank you." He can't really believe that Viggo's taking such good care of him after the words he remembers throwing out last night. _Did I really call him a slut? And say that Orli was a whore?_ Sadly, whatever other effects he's suffering from, he wasn't so drunk that he's forgotten anything that happened and so yes, he knows he did say those things. _And worse._

"You're welcome." Viggo pets Sean's chest for a minute, then just lies down next to him, not touching him. "You don't have to say anything. I know that what I was doing...it wasn't quite right. It wasn't something I should've been doing. I know that."

"No," Sean says, his hand fumbling for Viggo's. He grips it lightly and sighs. "It was me, overreacting. I know there's nothing going on between you and Orli." He winces a little; it's more of a question than the firm statement it should be.

"There's nothing," Viggo says firmly, "going on between me and Orli." He combs his fingertips through Sean's hair above the towel. "It's just you, Sean, and that's how I want it." He sighs, watching Sean lie there unmoving, and he wonders if Sean believes him. He wonders if he should do anything, if he _could_ do anything to get Sean to see it.

"I should have known," Sean says, feeling even guiltier. "I do believe you. Orli's like that with everyone and you're pretty damn touchy-feely yourself." He sits up just a little, leaning back against the pillow in order to sip some of the tea. In spite of the fact that it tastes nothing like real tea, it isn't upsetting his stomach at all. Quite the contrary, he realizes after a second sip.

That Sean's willing to attempt to move is a good sign. Viggo stays where he is, though, content to just wait for Sean to come back, or get up, or whatever. "I don't have to be, with him," he says, and he folds his arm under his head, curling up onto his side a little. Abruptly, he decides to change tacks. "I don't like the idea that I did something that made you make yourself sick."

"You didn't make me do anything," Sean says. "This ... being hungover, is my fault." He peels the towel off one eye and peers at Viggo. "I could have reacted in a less stereotypical manner."

"You reacted the way you reacted," Viggo smiles. It's a circular argument, so he tucks himself against Sean's shoulder and lets it go. Almost. "What do you want to do now?" he asks quietly. "What...how do you want to prevent this from happening in the future?"

"I need to understand that ... I need to trust you," Sean says. "That's ... it's fucking hard for me to do, but I don't want to drive you away." _Not like I drove me wives away._

"Can I do something to help you?" Viggo asks softly. He peels the towel back so he can make eye contact. "I know it's hard. I don't want to make it harder."

"Right now a couple of Panadeine would really hit the spot," Sean says, drinking more tea.

"I might have that," Viggo says, resisting the urge to add, _but that's not what I meant._ With Sean, everything reverts to the practical when he's in avoidance -- or sometimes, just out of necessity. Viggo presses a kiss to Sean's shoulder and draws back, sitting up again. "I can run home and check."

"Got some in the bathroom," Sean says, blinking as he pulls the towel off his eyes. "And I'm not trying to avoid your real question, you know. I'm just trying to get to a point where I can think."

"Right," Viggo murmurs, getting up and going to the bathroom. "Drink the tea," he calls over his shoulder.

"Yes, Mum," Sean says, but he drinks more of it. It's actually not bad, not that he intends to tell Viggo that. _Don't want him thinking I actually like his weedy stuff,_ he thinks with a smirk.

Viggo nods his head, mimicking Sean's _yes, Mum_, knowing Sean drank the tea and not caring if he liked it or not, frankly. It's good for him. Viggo rummages a minute, then finds the drugs with a triumphant little grunt.

"Here we go," he says, shaking the bottle and then unscrewing it to rattle two of them out.

Taking them with the last swallow of tea, Sean looks up at Viggo gratefully. "Thank you," he says, "for coming over this morning after all the shit I threw at you last night."

Viggo's wondering vaguely what Sean thinks of him and what, exactly, it says about him that he's not still at home and angry instead of finding ways to absolve Sean of his own jealousy. He shrugs one shoulder uncomfortably. "It's...don't worry about it."

"I can't not worry about it," Sean says, angrily, although that anger is all directed at himself. "I don't like that side of me, don't like lashing out like that."

"Sean," Viggo sighs. "I know you don't like it. I don't know what to say about it, though. I don't know how to make you understand you _can_ trust me."

"I do trust you," Sean says, really wishing the drugs would kick in. "I just don't trust me." He blinks, wondering where that sudden moment of candor came from.

Viggo swallows. "What...? What does that mean, Sean?"

"Fuck," Sean says, leaning back against the pillows. "He's so fucking gorgeous ... why in hell would you want me when you could have him. Or anyone else on this set."

Perching on the edge of the bed, Viggo sighs, then just leans over, resting his cheek on Sean's chest to listen to him breathe. "_You're_ fucking gorgeous," Viggo tells him. "I don't..."

He shakes his head. This is too much, he knows it, but that's never stopped him before. With Viggo, "too much" is seldom a reason to shut up. "I don't know what more to do. I'm in love with you. I'm not in love with Orlando or anyone else. I don't want to be. Just you."

"I know that," Sean says, wishing he'd kept his bloody mouth shut. He's not a Yank, not the sort to talk everything through, although to be fair, he thinks Viggo would be like that regardless of nationality. "Like I said ... it's me."

Viggo holds in another sigh. He wants to shake Sean and ask him if Sean even _heard_ him, but then again, it might be more than Sean _wants_ to hear. He might not want Viggo to be in love.

In the end, he just falls silent, listening to Sean's breaths and following them with his own.

"Sorry," Sean mutters. "Viggo I ... fuck ... I really don't want to fuck this up." It's as close as Sean's gotten to saying that he loves Viggo or that he views this as a lasting relationship, and right now he wonders why he doesn't just come out and say that.

"I know you don't," Viggo murmurs, and he supposes on some deep, dark level he doesn't want to admit to, he knows this may be as good as it gets with Sean, protestations of not wanting to fuck it up, whatever "it" is. "It" has never had a name, "it" just happened because Sean came over to fuck Viggo and then just...never left. "It" was a naturally-growing occurrence because the sex was good, there was mutual attraction and Sean found Viggo's art quirky and only slightly obsessive, both points in his favor. They gravitated toward each other in a way that didn't really require declarations.

But sometimes, Viggo thinks declarations would be nice. He'd know where he was, then. He wouldn't be tripping on where the boundaries are with people like Orlando and Billy and Elijah. Maybe if they had declarations between them, Sean wouldn't care about the mindless nuzzling.

Viggo sets that aside. There's no point in thinking that way. Right now, they're recovering in the wake of last night's ugliness, and Viggo's just glad they're recovering at all.

Viggo's silence tips Sean off that there's something going on, but the problem is that he honestly can't think right now. "Please," he says softly. "Let me feel better and then ... we'll talk." He knows it sounds like he's saying _and then ... I'll take a helicopter ride,_ but he genuinely does want to figure out what this thing is that they have.

A little startled, Viggo nods against Sean's chest. "Okay," he says quietly. He brings his hand up to cup the side of Sean's neck, just to touch him. Touching Sean always makes Viggo feel closer, as though the lack of communication between them can be mitigated through skin contact. He wants to explain that he's not trying to push, or to make Sean into something he isn't...God knows, Viggo's been there himself, and the good thing about divorces is learning in an abrupt and ugly way what not to do to people. But maybe explaining can be left aside for now.

_Jesus,_ he realizes, _we're just alike._

Relaxing a little, Sean settles against Viggo, breathing a little sigh of relief as the drugs kick in. "Feels good to have you here," he says after several moments spent in comfortable silence. "Even if I'm not proud of how I got to this stage. I don't have much, but I do have some tins of soup. Are you hungry?

"Not now," Viggo says. "Maybe later." He realizes with some shedding of pride that if they never..._talk_, Viggo can just go on like this, in the uncomfortable silences and the promises of tinned soup afterward. He's hooked, good and hard, stuck on the way Sean feels next to him and the sound of his voice saying meaningless things. "I'll fix you something if you want," he adds.

"Yes, I'd like that,' Sean says, putting the towel aside. "And a shower ... bloody hell, I need a shower."

"Okay." This feels more normal, now, less make-or-break. Viggo kisses Sean gently and climbs up off of the bed, tugging his t-shirt down and stretching his neck a little. "If you take a hot bath, it might ease the headache." He hesitates, then nods, getting ready to head out of the room before things get strange again.

"Nah," Sean says sitting up and stripping off his boxers. "You're the one with the decent tub," he adds as his tee shirt comes off. "I'll shower and let it run for a while and come and eat and I should be feeling a lot better."

"Okay," Viggo nods again, and shuffles down the hall to fix the soup. Surprisingly, he finds a vegetable-beef thing, and while he doubts the viability of vegetables soft enough to be sucked through a straw and swimming in brine and gravy, he's willing to bet they're the only vegetables Sean will eat, and surely they're better than nothing.

He stalls a bit on it, knowing Sean's going to take a lot longer than the few minutes it'll require to heat the soup, but the timing works out well. By the time Viggo heads back in, steaming mug held carefully in a towel, Sean's coming out of the shower.

Viggo averts his eyes quickly; he wants to lick Sean's skin, now, and that's not much good for healing a hangover.

"Are you staring at me naked body like some bloody pervert?" Sean teases. He's feeling a lot better, between the pills and the shower, his headache is almost gone and his stomach doesn't rebel at the smell of the soup in Viggo's hand.

Pulling on a clean pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt, he looks around the bedroom and wrinkles his nose. "How about the kitchen. I'll change the sheets later."

Viggo nods and shoots Sean a little grin, turning on his heel to head back out again. "Yes," he says as they settle onto the sofa, "I am staring at your naked body like some bloody pervert." And he leans over and licks the side of Sean's neck, sighing happily. It's funny; Sean feels better, Viggo feels better. _Oh, yeah. I'm gone, all right._

"And I like you staring, so what does that make me?" Sean asks with a smile. He turns his head to nuzzle at Viggo, amazed at how right it feels to be here with this man. _Bloody gone, I am,_ he thinks as he reluctantly pulls away to drink his soup.

Viggo leans back a bit to watch Sean eat. Maybe it's slightly weird, but it feels good. Sean can make something like eating bad soup glamorous in a way that no one else can: he's a grunting, earth-bound male, uninterested in the delicacies of art, science or extreme sports. Give him Sheffield United and a pint (or several) and that's all he needs, plus that exotic chip butty thing Viggo's never quite got the hang of.

The train of thought makes Viggo hold in another sigh. Here's someone who tolerates the art, inasmuch as Viggo can tell. He tolerates it well, and a bit indulgently, but still, there it is. Here's someone who drinks when he's angry, and "I don't want to fuck this up" is as much a statement of affection as Viggo's ever received.

_It doesn't matter,_ Viggo thinks, and another realization comes on the heels of the first one: _I need him._

Halfway through the soup Sean feels good enough to get up and dig through his cupboard until he finds a package of cheese biscuits that's still sealed. After eating a handful of them and finishing his soup, he smiles at Viggo. "Christ, I feel better. Thank you again for coming over to tend to me."

The words feel a little inadequate and he reaches out and cups the side of Viggo's face, running his thumb lightly over Viggo's mouth. "I wish I hadn't been so cruel last night."

"Stop," Viggo says quietly, closing his eyes. He tips his head into Sean's hand. "It's done. It's okay, now."

Sean looks at Viggo a little skeptically, wondering if Viggo means that or if the events of the night before will come back to haunt him. The moment he thinks it, he's ashamed of himself. If there's one thing Viggo always gives you, it's the truth, even if it's hard to hear.

"I did hear you earlier," he says quietly. "When you said you were in love with me."

That makes Viggo's stomach go hot and nervous. "And...?" he prods. He didn't want to do that, poke Sean for reciprocation, but...

"Well aside from the fact that I think you might be making a mistake," Sean says rather seriously, "I ... don't know. This doesn't feel like what love's felt like before. But it's ... it's something. I don't know if I have the words for it."

Squelching the disappointment isn't any fun, but Viggo does it. If it doesn't feel like love, then it probably isn't. That's not rocket science, and Viggo should be annoyed with himself that "something" is somehow enough for him.

"If I'm making a mistake," he says steadily, and then can't really finish that with some end-all-be-all comment, so he lets it trail off.

"I mean I'm not a prize," Sean says. "Look at me, I've got a crap track record; I'm a bloke; God only knows what your boy is gonna think of me, or my girls of you, and ... fuck. I don't know why I'm trying to talk you out of it when it would fucking kill me if you ... if we stopped being together."

"I don't want a 'prize,'" Viggo says, and now he's growing faintly annoyed with Sean: they can't afford for both of them to be doing self-deprecation at once. "I want you, I want...what you are. All of it. I couldn't be in this for just _part_ of you, that takes..." He shakes his head again. "That takes way more work than I'm into."

"I ... oh fuck," Sean says, pulling his hand away from Viggo's face to run it through his own hair. "This is ... I've never felt like this about someone before. It was all butterflies and sleepless nights and not being able to eat or keep me mind on me job...." He looks up then. "This is different. It's not all flighty like. It feels solid and real. And ... for me to get jealous is weird, you know? It was like a punch to the gut to think you might want someone else."

Viggo isn't going to try to try to explain how important this is to him. He climbs up over Sean's lap to straddle him and kisses him hard, one hand cupped at the back of Sean's neck and the other splayed at the side of his face.

"God," Sean moans, his arms going around Viggo's waist. "I need you Viggo ... and ... I need to stop with the shite and tell you that ... if it's not love, then I don't know what it bloody well is."

It crosses Viggo's mind to fret some more, silently, but then he stops himself. "Then say it," he insists, cupping Sean's head in his hands. "Just get the words out and be done with it."

"I thought I just did," Sean says with a smile. "You're wanting hearts and flowers?" He shakes his head and looks at Viggo much more seriously. "I love you." Again it's a solid feeling, something real and deep that moves him more than he expected.

"That," Viggo confirms, finally relaxing. "That's all I wanted." He gives Sean another long, hungry kiss, wrapping his arms around Sean's shoulders and pressing up against him.

Any other time, Sean would have laughed and teased Viggo for being like a bird, but this is too important a moment for that. Plus, Viggo's kissing him rather expertly and the ability to think is quickly leaving Sean.

Hell, Viggo will admit later to being downright neurotic about all this. Right now, though, his tongue's wrapped around Sean's and he's feeling hard thighs under his and his own slowly-growing erection.

"How are you?" he breathes, pulling back enough to look at Sean. "You feeling okay?"

"A little stoned," Sean admits, "but my head doesn't hurt too much and I'm bloody fucking hard for you." As if to make his point, he moves his hips, his erection pressing against Viggo. "Want you."

"Oh," Viggo grins, and he leans in to bite Sean's neck, lining up a little row of them. "Good." Shoving a hand down between them, Viggo squeezes and kneads, pulling back again to watch Sean's face. "What do you want?"

"Want you to...." Sean voice trailed off as he looked up at Viggo. For some reason this was almost harder than admitting he loved Viggo. "Want you to do me," he said, his voice almost a whisper.

Sean's voice going quiet like that makes Viggo's stomach go hot. He leans in and rests his forehead against Sean's. He closes his eyes, then tips his head down to nuzzle Sean's cheek. "Thank you," he whispers.

"I ... go slow, yeah?" Sean says wincing as he thinks about how hard he's fucked Viggo at various times.

"I will." Viggo pulls back and smoothes a hand over Sean's hair, giving him a smile. "I guess we'd better get off the sofa." He climbs down, his jeans dragging against Sean's a little, and then he holds out a hand to tug Sean up with him.

"Christ," Sean says, groaning. "The bedroom smells like booze and cigarettes."

"Oh." Viggo wrinkles his nose, nodding. "Well..." He looks around, then disappears out of the room. When he comes back, he's got two blankets, lube and condoms. "Here. Grab a side." He starts unfolding the first blanket onto the floor.

"The last people to fuck on my floor were Dom and Billy," Sean says, moving to help Viggo. "You sure you want to do this here?" But he's grinning as he says it and he knows the joking is just a cover for how nervous he is.

Viggo gives Sean the illusion of privacy for a minute, smiling to himself. "I'm sure," he says quietly, looking up and catching Sean's eye.

"Me too," Sean says, reaching out to take Viggo's hand. "I am sure."

That settles Viggo a little, nervousness he didn't even know he had. He strips down quickly, dropping tossing clothes aside -- then they're wrapped around each other, tangled up on top of the blankets, necking hard, and Viggo just loves the way Sean feels like this, all hot, naked friction.

This would almost be enough for Sean, just the feeling of Viggo against him, on top of him even. Sean has learned to like the feel of another man -- well this other man, at least -- against him, and no longer find the presence of a fair amount of body hair and the absence of feminine curves unnerving. But tonight, it's not enough; Sean actually wants more. At first it was all about proving himself to Viggo, but now that they're here, he realizes that, yes, maybe he is ready to get fucked.

Viggo pulls up enough to look at Sean again as he reaches for the lube. He knows the weight of this, and he feels a heavy sense of gratitude that Sean's allowing this.

As he slicks his fingers, he gives Sean a little grin and uses his dry hand to press Sean's thighs apart. "Remember to breathe," he murmurs, "and try to relax right here." He puts his hand low on Sean's stomach, almost over his pubic bone. He wonders if Sean will roll his eyes or think Viggo's being overly cautious, but knowing the mechanics of it and having it done to you are two different things.

Sean isn't about to roll his eyes, having said roughly the same thing to at least three different women he can think of. He's been teased there before, even had Viggo press a finger inside him during blowjobs, but Viggo's cock is substantially bigger than a finger. "Yeah," he says, trying to slow down his breathing.

Slowly -- very slowly -- Viggo starts to ease in first one finger, then two, watching Sean's face. There's tension, and every once in a while, Sean winces, but Viggo just keeps his fingers moving gently and pauses now and then for more lube.

Viggo's good and Sean almost feels guilty for the times that he's rushed this with Viggo. Then again he can also understand why Viggo's urged him to rush it; for all that it hurts a little as Viggo stretches him, Sean still feels almost incomplete. "God," he moans. And then," please," which surprises the hell out of him.

"God," Viggo groans, and he pulls his hand away and slicks on the condom quickly. "So fucking gorgeous." He presses a kiss to Sean's belly and then settles down between his legs, pressing up against him. "Ready?" he asks, hoping like hell Sean is.

"Yeah," Sean says, quietly. He looks up at Viggo and then nods. "Yeah," he adds, his voice firmer.

It's not easy; it hurts like hell as Viggo slowly pushes into him and Sean catches his breath. Suddenly all those assurances to breathe make more sense, and he forces himself to exhale. He knows it'll get better; it has to or people wouldn't do this all the damn time.

Viggo keeps himself slow, but it's not easy. Sean's a fucking virgin, and just the knowledge that Viggo's the first man to be here is making his breath go short.

"Don't want to hurt you," he gets out tightly, watching Sean, taking in the tension and the quick breaths. "God, but you feel good."

"Not hurting too much," Sean says, and he's not actually lying because even as he speaks, it's starting to feel better. "It's ... close," he says, sure that he sounds nonsensical. But that's what it is; it feels even more intimate than being inside Viggo.

"It is close," Viggo agrees, and he hitches his arm back to push Sean's thigh up higher. "Sean, _fuck._" He splays his hand over Sean's hip, holding him up a little as he fucks him.

The new angle makes it even better, and Sean gasps, open mouthed and astonished. "Good," he manages to say, although he's quickly reaching the point where he's going to loose the ability to speak. It's startling to realize that he doesn't have to do _anything,_ that he can just lie here and let Viggo fuck him.

"Yeah." Viggo fucks Sean a little faster, just a little. It's so good that for an instant he feels as though he could just go harder and harder until he drives himself over -- just as Sean has done on a dozen occasions. But this isn't like those dozen occasions. This is different -- it's more. Viggo stretches down to kiss Sean, still driving in, hips shaking a little as he tries not to just pound Sean into the floor.

"Christ," Sean gets out as he tilts his hips a little to meet Viggo's thrusts. That's all he's got in him to say, and as Viggo speeds up, Sean groans and reaches up to cling to Viggo's arms.

Viggo can only nod, now. He reaches between them and wraps his hand around Sean's cock, stroking quick and hard and almost staring, wanting to watch Sean go over like this.

Sean's groans get louder and he tilts his head back, eyes closed. The fact that he probably looks ridiculous doesn't even occur to him, all he cares about is the feel of Viggo's cock inside him, thick and hot and so fucking real. Even Viggo's hand on his cock is distracting; Sean's not ready to come just yet if it means that Viggo will come as well.

Far from looking ridiculous, Sean is fucking _gorgeous_ like this, head thrown back, body finally relaxing as he just..._takes_ it. But Viggo can tell he's not quite uninhibited, so he holds himself off, teeth clenched, driving into Sean with sharp snaps of his hips. Impulsively, he leans down to bite at a nipple, tongue flicking out to catch it and rub on it roughly.

The small shock of pain is almost perfect and Sean can't help the yell that escapes him as he shoves his cock up into Viggo's hand and comes so damn hard he sees spots behind his closed eyes. He feels almost shattered, fractured even and his fingers go even tighter on Viggo's arms.

Sean's cry, his sudden tensing, and the abrupt buck upward all send Viggo over sharply, and he cries out as Sean's yell tapers off, dropping his forehead to Sean's chest. He fucks until it's all wrung out of him and he has to go utterly still, twitching almost painfully inside Sean.

"Fuck," he moans. "Fuck, Sean." He presses Sean's leg down again, settling atop him.

Sean's still too deep, overwhelmed to speak; all he can do is cling to Viggo. He'd thought about this before, thought about asking Viggo to fuck him, and now he knows that if he hadn't told Viggo he loved him before this, he'd have told him now. _Glad I waited,_ he thinks. _Glad the words came first._

_-end-_

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the Hangover prompt on Moldava's Christmas Table, but the fact is that it's not a Christmas story so it's just a stand-alone work whose only connection to the table is the prompt itself.


End file.
